


Getting Warmer

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Feelings Realization, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Monster Hunt Gone Wrong, injured geralt, injured jaskier, protective Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Injured and freezing after a kikimora hunt gone wrong, Geralt and Jaskier must wait out a thunderstorm at the bottom of a cliff, huddling for warmth. It is here that Geralt finally confronts his feelings for the bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 127
Kudos: 1523
Collections: GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> C'mon. Everyone has to write at least one "huddling for warmth" story for their OTP. It's, like, a right of passage or some shit.
> 
> Also I feel like I took liberties with the kikimora's appearance. Oh well!

"Stay here and _don't move_ ," said Geralt, shoving Jaskier onto a boulder. "I don't want you attracting the attention of the kikimora. Which reminds me, no playing the lute either."

"But I need the lute to help me construct the perfect ballad! Look, promise you I won't even be loud with it. Quiet as a mouse, not even you with your witcher senses could hear me."

"Oh if I could only get that lucky. You wouldn't know how to be quiet if you had step-by-step instructions. No lute. No, Jaskier. Or that lute could be the biggest part of you I have to bury. This is as close as you get." To be honest, Geralt didn't know why he let Jaskier sit upon the cliffside anyway. Kikimora were lightning fast; if this one spotted Jaskier and went for him Geralt didn't know if he could stop it in time. 

He twitched as thunder rumbled distantly overhead, unnaturally loud to his enhanced hearing. The clouds were thick, so grey they appeared almost black. Jaskier pursed his lips and looked nervously overhead. That was it.

"Nope, come on, I'm leaving you back at the inn." Geralt grabbed Jaskier under the elbow and hauled him up, flinching as Jaskier's yelp went off like a firecracker. "This was a stupid idea."

Jaskier fought out of Geralt's grip. "No, it wasn't! Geralt, I promise. Look, as great as 'Toss A Coin to Your Witcher' is, we need an epic ballad. One that shows just how heroic and capable you are. Your exploits need to reach as far as the remotest Skellige island. People will be throwing their money at you before you open your big scowly mouth to ask for it." He smiled, clapping Geralt on the shoulder. "Just go do your witchery things and leave me to my ballad. Besides, you're always so stingy on the details, what's better than being up close for your heroic deeds? Remind me, this kikimora has killed how many people?"

"Six. And if you're here, that just might make it seven."

"I promise you, I won't leave this spot or make a noise!" Jaskier even went as far as to mime zipping his lips closed and throwing an imaginary key over his shoulder, arching his brows as if to say, "See?"

Geralt sighed. There was nothing else for it, he supposed; the inn was a good forty-minute ride. By the time he dropped Jaskier off and came back, the storm would likely be well underway. It was bad enough to have to fight in a bog as is. 

"Fine. Stay here, _stay quiet,_ and write your stupid ballad. I'll be right back." 

* * *

The villager who had to give up one of her prized cows for this fight would be grateful to know that the beast didn't die in vain; within two minutes of Geralt setting up the bloody remains as bait, the hungry kikimora showed up, rising from the murky depths of the bog. 

And it was massive.

Geralt had never seen a kikimora this big; it was twice as tall and three times wider than the average for its kind, looming over him like a nightmare. He watched as it leaped twenty feet to the bloody cow carcass, front pincers clicking as it rent flesh from bone and devoured it in seconds. 

That was the first bad feeling he got. 

A fork of lightning shot down into the forest, accompanying a boom of thunder. Thick and heavy sheets of rain drenched him within seconds as the heavens opened up, chilling him to the bone. He heard Jaskier's gasp of surprise. Time to end this.

Geralt drew his sword. "Come on."

The fight was brutal and bloody. Geralt quickly lost himself in the battle, dodging the many knife-like limbs, slashing and hacking away at the kikimora's massive body. Any concern he'd had before was wiped clean from his mind as adrenaline coursed through his veins like ice water. It was just him and this kikimora, locked in a bloody battle to the death.

Geralt was confident he had the upper hand. Until he didn't. 

One of the dozens of legs swept his feet out from under him, another seizing him by the ankle and throwing him into the side of the cliff. His witcher potions dulled what he knew would be searing pain in his back once they wore off. Grunting, he planted his sword into the muddy earth to lever himself up. 

The kikimora charged with a deafening scream. He barely rolled out of the way in time, hearing it strike the rocky wall. Good. That ought to daze it.

Jaskier cried out. Geralt looked up. The impact had knocked him out from behind his hiding place. The kikimora cocked its head and, planting two of its spindly legs at the top of the cliff, levered itself up. It and Jaskier were suddenly, horrifyingly, eye-to-eye. 

"O-oh my god," Jaskier stammered. "Geralt - Geralt, _help_!"

"Jaskier, get away!" Geralt howled. He slashed at the kikimora's back leg - not deep enough. It turned to him as if he were nothing more than an afterthought, shoving him to the ground. "Get to Roach!"

He heard Jaskier running away. With a click that almost sounded put-out, the kikimora gave chase. On its massive legs it cleared the cliff-face in a matter of seconds - Geralt plunged after it, stabbing it in the back, but it did no good. He'd have to climb up after it. 

" _GERALT!_ "

Over Jaskier's panicked shrieks, Roach screamed, stomping her hooves frantically, but Geralt had tied her too tight to come loose. This whole hunt was one bad thing after the other. He couldn't recall a time when a hunt had gone to shit so quickly. 

In his own adrenaline-fueled panic, Geralt forgot the path he had used to climb down into the bog. He scrambled up the cliff-face, frantic fingers grabbing vines and knocking dirt loose to shower down over him and turn to sludge as the rain continued to pelt down from the sky. He counted Jaskier's gasping cries as a blessing; the kikimora had not yet killed him. 

Jaskier was pinned against a tree, clutching his lute over his chest as if it would protect him from being stabbed through. Pale face bloodless, eyes as wide as dinner plates, he was close to passing out. The kikimora nudged him around, inspecting him. Playing with him. Having fun. 

Geralt saw red. And charged. 

Slashing and hacking, he drove the kikimora away from Jaskier, managing to slice off one of its limbs in the process. It tried to stab him through the shoulder; he ducked just in time, feeling the sting as it slashed his skin open instead. It roared and hefted itself onto its back legs. Geralt, confused (this was not normal kikimora behaviour; they didn't know how to stand up like this), was too late to react.

It body-slammed him to ground and pinned him underneath its girth. His sword arm was trapped against his side. He couldn't move. The kikimora clicked in satisfaction. A string of saliva oozed from its hideous mouth and onto his face, his neck. He tried wriggling but he couldn't move. Fuck, he was going to die here, fuck, fuck, fuck - 

Jaskier screamed. He smashed his lute over the kikimora's head. Geralt squeezed his eyes shut against the shower of splinters. The kikimora shrieked deafeningly, its grip on Geralt loosening as it turned its attention squarely back to Jaskier, who was gaping as if he couldn't fathom what he'd just done. Seizing his chance, Geralt started wriggling free. 

The kikimora stabbed Jaskier in the shoulder and threw him off the edge of the cliff so quickly it took Geralt a few seconds to process what had just happened. One minute Jaskier was there, then he wasn't. And it was a fifteen-foot drop to the bog below. 

"Fucking cunt!" he growled.

His potions were running out now. If he was going to kill this thing - and he fucking was, he would not allow for anything else - then he'd have to do it fast. 

If the fight was brutal and bloody before, it was nothing compared to now. 

Three more legs were severed in sprays of blood over the course of the next few minutes. Geralt scored hits across its hideous face. But he himself did not come out unscathed; he felt his own bruises, cuts, and stab wounds more and more keenly as time went on. Not much time left - 

A fourth leg went flying. There! His chance!

He stabbed it straight in the face, burying his sword to the hilt. It keened. Geralt ripped his sword free as it fell onto its side, remaining limbs twitching, before it succumbed to death. Geralt stared down at it, puffing and panting, swelling with pride at the victory until - 

_Jaskier._

"Don't be dead, don't be dead," Geralt muttered, rushing off to find his bard. " _Please_ don't be dead."

He would never, ever forgive himself if Jaskier was dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the incredible reception to the first chapter! I'm just...overwhelmed. 
> 
> Fun fact: I've been calling this chapter "the one where Geralt can't run away from his emotions or pretend he doesn't have any" since I started writing it. Anyone who's read the books knows Geralt's one of the most emotional characters in the story, he just doesn't like showing it.

The rain pummeled Geralt mercilessly like a million punches per second; a punishment for ever letting this happen in the first place as he staggered down the slippery path wound around the cliffside, a hand on the wall to brace himself as everything from the waist down burned pure agony. 

_Just as long as he isn't dead._ Whilst his body would recover from the battle via his natural healing process aided by a few potions, there wouldn't be anything he could do, use, or take to recover from losing Jaskier. It wouldn't be the first time being a witcher had stolen something precious from him, but it would hurt the most, the longest. 

Jaskier lay in a heap, right there at the bottom of the cliff.

Unmoving. 

Silent.

Surrounded by a growing puddle of water that threatened to swallow him whole, the mud that clung to him turning an even murkier shade thanks to the blood seeping out from his wounds.

Geralt hobbled over to Jaskier, heedless now to his own pain in the wake of desperation. Fell to his knees and pressed trembling fingers to the pulse point in Jaskier's neck. For one terrifying moment he didn't feel a thing. 

"No, no...come on, Jaskier..."

Shifted his fingers slightly to the left.

_Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump._

"Thank fuck." Geralt fell sideways to pull his legs out from underneath himself. He planted his elbows on his knees, cupped his hands over his face. "Thank fuck."

Geralt allowed himself the brief flash of relief, turning his face up to the sky to let the rain wash him clean as best it could, letting it take his fear with it. And then he got to work; assessing Jaskier's injuries. His own were unimportant when he could walk, move his hands, and his head was facing the right direction. 

The stab wound to Jaskier's shoulder, Geralt surmised, would likely take a month to heal. The broken wrist on the same arm roughly the same time. Probably a good thing Jaskier already smashed his lute over the kikimora's head ( _Saving you,_ his brain supplied unhelpfully) because he wouldn't be playing it for a long time. There were, fortunately, no noticeable injuries to Jaskier's legs, hips, or ribs besides cuts and bruises. All in all, Jaskier was incredibly lucky. 

_He'll need medicine for the pain,_ Geralt realised. Not long after Jaskier started travelling with him full-time, Geralt had acquired and kept medicine fit for human consumption in a separate compartment of his medicine bag. Taking witcher potions would only destroy just about everything in a normal human body.

"Ugh," Jaskier moaned, snatching Geralt from his thoughts. One of Jaskier's hands twitched, as if trying to reach out for him. "Ger'lt."

Geralt bent over him. "I'm here, Jaskier. You're safe."

"You...'kay?"

"I'm fine."

"Hurts..."

The bog was quickly filling up with water. 

"I know." 

Jaskier opened his mouth - only to choke on floodwater. The rain was merciless. The area was fast becoming something akin to a river. 

Geralt needed to move Jaskier up to higher ground. Better to get it over with than waste time. Rolling Jaskier over onto his back got him a pained groan - picking him up made him scream. Staggering his way back up the path, Geralt grit his teeth as Jaskier sobbed in his arms, senseless words of agony streaming from his lips. 

_Your fault, your fault, your fault._

_Never should've brought him along._

_Fucking stupid. Now, look what you've done!_

Closing his eyes against the onslaught of self-hatred, Geralt breathed deep through his nose. He had to calm down. Losing himself to his emotions now would put Jaskier in further jeopardy. 

Roach stamped anxiously at the ground as Geralt approached her, setting Jaskier down beneath the tree she was tied to. Lowering her neck, she sniffed him then shook her head with a worried snort. 

"I know, girl," said Geralt, pausing on his way to get the medicine bag to give her a comforting pat. "Me too."

The trees provided decent protection from the elements. It was nothing compared to what a solid roof over their heads could do, but beggars couldn't be choosers and all that shit. But as he set the medicine bag down at his feet and looked around, he figured out a quick plan of action to protect Jaskier from the worst of it.

Whipping his travelling cloak out of one of the saddlebags, he threw one side over a bush and another out of a thin lower branch of the tree above Jaskier's head. Given enough time it would provide absolutely no protection at all, but it was enough for now. 

"Geralt," Jaskier moaned. His eyes were closed, head turned away from Geralt in an attempt to hide from the rain. "Where...?"

"I'm over here, Jask."

"Are you...?"

"I'm fine." Geralt settled beside Jaskier, rummaging through the medicine bag on his lap. Pulled out a vial of poppy milk and unstopped it, reached over and gently nudged Jaskier to turn his head toward him, and put the rim of the vial to his trembling lips. "Drink. It'll take away the pain."

"I-I...No. Don't...I can't..." Pain and delirium were frightening Jaskier, quickly working him up into a frenzy. 

"Jaskier." Reluctantly, Geralt drew the sign of Axii in the air. " _Drink_."

The bluish-white magic curled around Jaskier's head, a metallic hum ringing through the air on the edge of hearing. The delirium faded. When the rim of the vial touched his lips, Jaskier obeyed, gulping down the sickly white concoction. 

Now all they had to do was wait. 

Given the magnitude of their injuries and the relentless nature of the storm churning the dirt paths into slippery, treacherous mud, Geralt couldn't risk riding Roach out of there. The sheets of rain were heavy and thick, obscuring everything from view that sat more than five feet away. He had already endangered Jaskier enough for one day without piling on more issues.

 _I should have taken him back to the inn._ Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to fall into a meditative state, but he could not; his thoughts churned with self-hatred, with regret, unwilling to be silenced. _I never should have let him convince me it would be alright for him to stay._

 _Breathe,_ said a voice in his mind, eerily similar to Vesemir's. _A witcher who cannot focus his mind in times of turmoil is worse than dead; he's useless. Focusing on one's breathing is a guaranteed way of gaining control over one's own faculties._

Geralt clenched his hands into fists and breathed.

* * *

Thunder boomed overhead. The wind picked up and forced the rain to slash sideways. 

Something was touching the inside of Geralt's wrist. 

Eyes snapping open, silently cursing himself for allowing himself to drift off too deeply, he reached for the dagger in his boot before he realised the hand belonged to a much more lucid-looking Jaskier than a monster.

"Geralt," Jaskier whispered. "We're safe?" 

"We are. The beast is dead."

Jaskier went to speak but paused, his gaze sliding to the side of Geralt as his teeth worried his lower lip. 

"What is it, Jaskier?"

Instead of answering, Jaskier tried to sit up only to turn ghostly pale with pain and laid down flat again, huffing and puffing as if he had run a marathon. He whispered, "I'm cold. It hurts."

"Hmm."

"Geralt, help me move. Please. My back is killing me."

Geralt frowned. "Your ribs were bruised by the fall. It's unwise to move you."

"Am I to lay on the cold hard ground until they heal?" Jaskier grinned, his front teeth coated in blood from his split lips. "That could be weeks."

Conceding the point with a low grumble, Geralt shifted to help Jaskier lean against the tree next to him, guilt twinging inside of him with every pained grunt and cry Jaskier tried to keep inside as his injuries were jostled. It took several minutes of heavy gasping for Jaskier to get his breath back. 

"I think...I'll leave this out of the ballads," he said, rapping the knuckles of his good hand against his knee. "Doesn't really paint either of us in a heroic light, does it? If this were like the ballads we'd have already ridden back to the inn by now and drunk at least six pints of ale in celebration."

"Hmm." If Jaskier didn't consider smashing his lute over a kikimora's head to save Geralt's life, with no other weapons at his disposal, as 'heroic' then Geralt didn't know what heroism was. "For now, I'll take us both being alive over the fantasy of six pints of ale."

"Heh. We did cut it kinda close, didn't we?" A cold blast of wind ripped through them. Jaskier gasped and shuddered. "Fuck, I'm freezing."

Remembering himself, Geralt ripped the cloak from the bushes and wrapped it around Jaskier. Sodden as it was, it probably wouldn't do much to help, but it was the best he could offer. Jaskier smiled gratefully up at him. 

"As soon as the storm lets up," said Geralt, ignoring the funny little swooping feeling in his stomach, "I'll get us back to town and get you to a healer."

Jaskier groaned in pain as he shifted his weight a little. "When do you think it will? Let up, I mean."

The clouds were still thick and dark in the sky. Not once had the rain showed the slightest sign of letting up. Geralt knew it could be hours before it did.

"Soon," was all he chose to say. Perhaps this was one of those times when Jaskier wouldn't appreciate honesty. 

"Fuck." Jaskier shifted again. "Ow!"

"Then stop moving! You're only gonna make shit worse for yourself." Worry sharpened Geralt's words to knives, stabbing into Jaskier - who was gaping up at him in shock. 

" _You_ try sitting comfortably when your whole body feels like a bruise," Jaskier muttered. "See how you get on then, witcher!"

Pointing out the fact that he, Geralt, regularly did exactly that wasn't wise. Especially considering his superhuman healing ability. Had Jaskier's injuries happened to him, he'd give it another hour before he'd be healed enough to walk around under his own power. 

Geralt sighed. The pain potion must've already worn off. He wouldn't be able to safely give Jaskier another for another four hours. 

"Come here, then."

"What?"

Rolling his eyes, Geralt patted his lap. "Lie down."

Eyes as wide as saucers, Jaskier whispered, "You want me to lay down...on your lap?"

"If you don't want to, it's no skin off my nose -"

"No, no! I want to! It's just - you might have to help me lie down."

"Tsk. Naturally."

"Geralt of Rivia, do not take that tone with me when I'm this injured. I'm sensitive. I may cry. Do you want me to cry?" At Geralt's horrified expression, Jaskier smirked. "That's what I thought."

"Hmm."

It took a bit of careful maneuvering to get Jaskier on his back again, head pillowed in Geralt's lap. His armour-covered thigh couldn't have made a comfortable pillow, but for once Jaskier did not complain. He heaved a great sigh and slowly relaxed as if he were about to fall asleep. Only the rhythm of his breathing betrayed his wakefulness.

Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the rain. 

"I don't want you to ever do anything like that again," Geralt blurted out. 

Jaskier's eyes opened. "What do you mean?"

There was no taking the words back, no pretending that he didn't just unveil this snake pit. Furious with himself for allowing his mouth to run ahead of his brain, Geralt, for once, spoke his mind. 

"You could've gotten yourself killed when you got involved. You're lucky that these are the only injuries you sustained - if shit had gone any worse, your lute would be in better condition than you right now. I'm serious, Jaskier. Don't do that again."

"What, so I should've sat back and watched it kill you?" Jaskier scoffed. "No way. I may not be a strong, capable witcher, but I'm not just gonna sit back and do nothing when you need me."

"I had it under control -"

"You had shit all under control. The moment it pinned you, that was it for you. If I hadn't done what I did, you'd be dead!"

"If this is the attitude you're going to take, consider this the last contract I'll take you on -"

"If I want to come along, I'll come along!" Jaskier tried to sit up but the pain - and Geralt's hand on his shoulder - forced him back down. "I am an adult, Geralt, so I don't have to do what you say."

"Why the fuck are you being so pigheaded about this?" Geralt snarled. "You could have died!"

"And so could you!"

"Why the fuck do you care -"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, DICKHEAD."

The air left Geralt in a rush as if he had been hit in the solar plexus. "W-what?"

"Yeah, that's right! I love you!" Jaskier's eyes were bloodshot and wet, just not because of the rain. "There, I said it - that's why I couldn't stand back and watch it kill you. That's why I put my life on the line. What biting remark do you have to say to _that_?"

"I - no, you're - Jaskier, stop being ridiculous -"

" _Ridiculous_?!" 

"Yes, ridiculous!" What was Geralt supposed to do with this confession? Accepting it - reciprocating it (and he knew, deep down, that he did) would only put Jaskier in more danger. Refusing it would send Jaskier away. The words shoved him into the metaphorical corner. Getting out of it would be messy no matter what. "Why would someone like you love someone like me?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The rain picked up the intensity again until Geralt had to shout to be heard. 

"You could have anyone you wanted. Have something uncomplicated, simple. Wherever I go, Jask, I bring pain and anguish. You deserve way better than that."

Jaskier grabbed Geralt's wrist and squeezed. "Nobody but me gets to decide what I deserve. If I wanted uncomplicated and simple, I never would've continued following you after the sylvan and those elves. But I did. Gladly. You don't bring pain and anguish wherever you go." He squeezed harder when Geralt attempted to interrupt. "I know this is true because no matter what I am happy when I am with you.

"If you cannot accept my feelings, Geralt, I understand. I'll work past them and we can remain friends if that's what you want. I want anything you want to give me. So tell me right now, Geralt of Rivia - do you accept my feelings or not? And be honest with yourself."

"I..." Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Geralt whispered, "I don't want you to get hurt."

"And I don't want you to get hurt. But if putting myself in harm's way saves your life, I'd do it again. Just like you would for me. Geralt." Wide, earnest eyes seemed to penetrate the deepest depths of Geralt's soul. "Please give me an answer."

"I - yes, Jaskier. Yes."

Geralt had always thought Jaskier's smile could give the sun a run for its money. But he had been wrong. The sun paled in comparison to the rosy-cheeked beam that Jaskier blessed him with. 

"See?" Jaskier chuckled. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Fuck off, bard."

Jaskier howled with laughter, sliding his hand up Geralt's forearm to thread their fingers together. "Fuck off yourself, witcher."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter decided to become sentient and write itself. Considering whether or not to remove the "huddling for warmth" tag because, well, they cuddled in the rain but they certainly weren't doing it for warmth rather than Jaskier's comfort. 
> 
> Next chapter is the final one! Huzzah! 
> 
> If you'd like, you can follow me on Tumblr @mystic-majestic. I have several fic requests (which you can add to!) and several other story ideas for this beloved ship, so this is definitely not going to be the final Witcher story you see from me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Australian heat, family commitments, and other writing projects kinda stole my time. In order to get this chapter out quicker, I had to cut it in half, so there'll be an additional chapter after this one to wrap things up! 
> 
> Also can any of you guess which Witcher 3 character makes an appearance this chapter? Honestly, I love her so much I just couldn't resist!

The rain was slow to let up. Geralt had Jaskier up and on Roach the moment it did, riding as fast as he dared back to the town, gritting his teeth against the surge of guilt at every pained whimper that left Jaskier's thinly pressed lips. 

"Almost there," he said, a useless platitude. "Hang on, Jask. We're almost there."

The village appeared like a mirage, a black spec on the horizon growing larger with every passing second until he finally passed through its rotting gates. He ran straight for the town healer who hurriedly introduced herself as Tansy as she helped Geralt assist in pulling a groaning Jaskier from Roach's back and onto her straw bed.

"Oh my goodness," muttered Tansy. "Stand back, please. I need room to work."

The first thing she did was sedate Jaskier. His eyes, drooping, lingered on Geralt until he could no longer hold them open, succumbing to the medicine. Geralt picked up a chair and moved it into an empty corner near the door where he could keep an eye on it, the stairs, and Jaskier at once. He slid his swords off his back but kept the sheath resting against his knee, the hilt of his sword never far from his hand. 

"Quite a number done on him," Tansy muttered, clicking her tongue. "Bandits, I wager?"

"Close. A kikimora."

She paused in the act of resetting the broken bones in Jaskier's arm to shoot an incredulous look over her shoulder, no doubt waiting for Geralt to quit the joke. When he didn't, she affected a little shudder and returned to her work.

"A kikimora so close to town...I shudder to think what could have happened if it wandered too close."

"Your alderman probably would've paid more for a witcher's services."

"Now's not the time for jokes, Master Witcher."

"I don't joke." Truth be told, the alderman was paying a pittance for the beast. Once he was certain Jaskier was well away from death's door and on the path to recovery, Geralt intended on fixing that issue - 

Fuck! The trophy. 

So concerned with Jaskier's safety and wellbeing, he had forgotten to take the head of the kikimora. He would have to go back once the storm cleared up to get it. 

Feeling exasperated with himself, he allowed himself to slip into a meditative state. It was the next best thing he could get to sleep without losing consciousness. He heard Tansy putter around, clinking vials together, picking things up and putting them down, and mutter to herself. 

"There," she said finally. Opening his eyes, Geralt watched her sit back on her haunches, looking proud of herself. "I believe that is all that I can do for him now. All his injuries have been tended to. Now he needs to rest."

"How long until he's recovered in full?"

Her expression turned grim as she swept a piece of her long blonde hair out of her face. "These types of injuries take time, Master Witcher. My potions can ease the pain and stave off infection, but it is his own body that must do the work to stitch himself back together, so to speak. I'd say it would be a month before he could get back out on the road at the very least - and that is if he doesn't do anything to exhaust himself."

A whole month? What were they supposed to do for coin for a whole month? It wasn't like Jaskier could pick up a lute and start entertaining people; one, he had a broken arm; two, they left his broken lute back with the kikimora. And there wasn't another town around for miles - and what were the chances of them having a monster that needed to be killed?

 _That alderman better watch out for himself,_ he thought, grim. _After all the trouble we've gone through for this damn kikimora, he owes me more than a handful of coins now._

* * *

For all that the alderman begged that he could not pay more than what he offered, he did allow them to stay in their only inn for free - food and baths included - for all the trouble they had gone through to rid the town of the kikimora. The festering head of the beast lying on the floor of his house, oozing bloody slime into the floorboards, certainly helped persuade him. 

They had to wait a week before they could take up the generous offer; Jaskier, until that point, had been far to weak and injured to move. His battered body needed continuous rest, and Geralt could not bring himself to challenge Tansy's decision. Just sitting up to eat properly had Jaskier near throwing up that first couple of days thanks to his concussion. 

"I'm sorry," Jaskier croaked, leaning heavily against Geralt as they made slow progress toward the inn. He was drugged to the gills on pain potions, but there was no way Geralt could carry him without running the risk of injuring him further. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Guilt was a bitter taste inside Geralt's mouth. This never should have happened to Jaskier. If Geralt had sustained Jaskier's injuries, he'd already be on the path to recovery, unassisted by pain potions, arm splints, and careful monitoring of his breathing to make sure none of his broken ribs punctured a lung. Jaskier was human, and human was all things fragile. He should have tried harder to protect Jaskier - should have listened to his gut instinct and taken him back to town before he faced off against the kikimora.

Should have, could have, didn't. 

Every pillow in the room went toward Jaskier's comfort. Within minutes of his relieved groan at getting something soft under his aching body, Jaskier fell asleep, leaving Geralt to fuss over him in relative peace. Once done, he went downstairs to grab something to eat, bringing the bowl and tankard back upstairs, unwilling to leave Jaskier alone longer than he had to. 

Once he finished eating, he perched on the end of the bed and allowed himself to drift into a meditative trance, yet all of his senses remained keenly aware. 

"If only I had my lute," Jaskier said, his voice sleep raspy. "I could compose a song about how gorgeous you look right now. Alas, the tune will remain only in my head for now."

Geralt opened his eyes slowly. "Where it should remain."

"Mmm," Jaskier hummed, amused. "Don't worry, I'll remember it for later." He tapped his fingers against his head. "Nothing ever leaves my noggin. Least not where songs are concerned."

Lips twitching, Geralt said, "Pity help us all."

"Ooh, get a load of this; Geralt of Rivia, local funnyman." Jaskier tried to raise his hand from the bed but couldn't, ended up settling for wiggling his fingers at Geralt. "Come lie down with me."

"I'm not sure that's the best idea."

"What? Are you kidding? It's the best idea."

"Your injuries -"

"You'll be lying down next to me, not on me. It'll be fine. Besides, I'm injured, so you have to do what I say."

"Not sure that's how that works."

Jaskier sniffed. "Of course it's how it works. C'mon, lie down. You look almost as tired as I feel, which, believe me, is a feat unto itself."

Staring at Jaskier for a long moment - to which Jaskier responded by waggling his eyebrows - Geralt sighed and gave in. Kicking off his boots and shrugging out of his jacket, he borrowed one of the pillows and laid down. 

"Could you relax?" Jaskier snorted. "I've seen statues look more at ease than you."

"If I move to much, I might jostle your injuries."

"Geralt, I'm not made of glass. Lay down properly and relax."

Sighing once more, Geralt did as he was told. Glanced up at Jaskier for approval, but was met with drooping eyes as Jaskier drifted off toward sleep. The banter had sufficiently worn him out.

"Night, Geralt," Jaskier whispered. 

"Goodnight, Jaskier."

* * *

After two weeks of bed rest and hot meals, Jaskier was finally coming around. He was livelier, up longer, and Geralt couldn't bring himself to be annoyed by the incessant chatter that followed his recovery. Not when the reminder that all this had come so close to being taken away from him was still fresh in his mind. 

The residents of the town were now quite used to a witcher being in their midst. Hardly minding Geralt as he passed, no longer spitting at his feet or shooting him distrustful glares. This was the closest he had come to fitting in anywhere outside of Kaer Morhen. He was rather enjoying it. 

"Master Witcher! Master Witcher! Show us your swords!" And the children never failed to fall over each other the moment they saw him. They spoke over each other until their high-pitched voices blended into one. "Are they really sharp, Master Witcher? What kind of monsters have you seen? If there are drowners and rotfiends, Master Witcher, can there be monsters such as unicorns? There's no such thing as unicorns! Yeah-huh, my brother said he saw them, and he travelled all around! Your brother's a liar - no, he isn't, you stupid-head!"

"Alright, alright, enough," said Geralt, kneeling down to their level. "Unicorns aren't monsters, and they're certainly real -"

"Ha! I told you!" shouted a little girl with bows in her pigtails. 

" - but they are rare. Don't like to show themselves to people. Because of that, I haven't seen one."

Pig-tail girl looked up at him shyly. "Do you think I could see one?"

"Sure, who knows? Stranger things have happened."

"Yes!" she crowed, jumping up and down. "I'm gonna see a unicorn! I'm gonna see a unicorn!"

"Alright, alright, everyone back inside. Lunch break is over." A plump woman with a kind face stood in the doorway of a little cabin. She ushered them over with quick motions of her hand. "Stop bothering the man and come back in. It's time for your sums."

The children groaned but hurried off, shouting, "Bye, Master Witcher!"

"Goodbye," Geralt called after them, smiling. When they had disappeared inside the cabin, he sighed and muttered, "And now to find that pesky bard of mine..."

Getting mobile again meant that Jaskier flitted around anywhere and everywhere he pleased, so long as it was within the town and he didn't exacerbate himself. If Geralt didn't have a substantial amount of evidence to prove otherwise, he'd believe Jaskier was a phantom, flickering from one spot to the next in a second. 

Geralt found him in the tavern talking to a bard, a woman with pale hair carrying a lute. The legs of her tights were green and red respectively, and her little red hat had a single feather dangling from it. The two talked like they were old friends - and they probably were. Oxenfurt Academy had a reputation for putting out ninety percent of the world's troubadours according to Jaskier. 

Happening to glance from Priscilla to Geralt, Jaskier's face lit up and he beckoned Geralt over. Pursing his lips together and preparing for the onslaught of exuberance only troubadours could muster, he went. 

Jaskier threw his good arm around Geralt's shoulders the moment he was within reach. "Priscilla, may I introduce to you Geralt of Rivia?" 

Her eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. Bracing himself for 'Butcher of Blaviken' or some other delightfully insulting nicknames human saw fit to give him, Geralt was stunned silent when all she said was, "The White Wolf?"

"One and the same!" Jaskier beamed. 

"My my, the company you keep. I'm impressed. When I heard your songs, I never thought you were actually travelling with him, just that you were a really big fan." Realising that she was being rude, she stuck her hand out to Geralt. "My apologies. My name is Priscilla - better known for my on-stage persona, Calonetta. Pleasure to meet you."

He shook her hand once and let it go. "Likewise."

Priscilla inclined her head with a smile. She turned to Jaskier. "I apologise for stealing your thunder, but I was also asked to perform here tonight. Not too upset about having to share your coin, are you?"

"There's no thunder to steal," said Jaskier, waving her off. "I'm not here on business; I'm recovering. Suffered a nasty attack not too long ago. Besides, I don't have a lute anymore." 

It was impossible to miss the flash of pain in Jaskier's eyes, the heavy sense of loss his words carried. Yet another stab of guilt hit Geralt right in the chest. How could he have let himself forget that? Though he supposed he could be forgiven for being more preoccupied with helping Jaskier recover than worrying about a lute he wouldn't have been able to play regardless. 

Her face fell. "That's terrible! I'm sorry to hear that. But you are on the mend, aren't you?"

"Oh definitely. No question about it. If you had seen me the day of the attack, there'd be no question that I'm getting better." Jaskier dug an elbow into Geralt's side, grinning. "All thanks to this guy. Say, when do you play?"

"Not until dusk. Day-drinkers don't make the best customers; too busy spending coin on refilling their cups than giving it to the entertainment. You might as well be a spec of dust!" 

"Then I'll make sure to watch - we both will."

"And if you're up for it, I may call you up for a duet - I would play the lute," she added. "It'd be a shame to have the great Jaskier in their midst but never hear him perform."

"Excuse me," said Geralt, who was feeling increasingly agitated. He hated having to listen to conversation he couldn't figure out how to be part of. "I have something I need to take care of."

"Alright then," said Jaskier. And to Priscilla's evident surprise, judging by her little gasp, he leaned over and pecked a kiss on Geralt's cheek. "Don't be gone too long!"

"I won't be."

As he was leaving, Geralt heard Priscilla say to Jaskier in an awed voice, "You sure know how to pick them, don't you? Not many people can boast a witcher for a lover."

"I'm just lucky like that."

 _No,_ Geralt thought. _The luck is all mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left and then I'll have finished my first multi-chapter project in a long time. Eee!! Please let me know what you think!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Woo! Better late than never, amirite?

Geralt stumbled across it on accident. 

Hanging lopsided from the front of the merchant's stall by its strap was a lute. Compared to the one that Jaskier had had before, the one from Filavandrel, this lute was nothing special. Plain brown, no decoration painted on it. But it drew Geralt in all the same. 

The merchant flinched as Geralt approached. "What can I - what can I do you for?"

"That lute. How much is it?"

There was no better way of thanking Jaskier for what he had done for Geralt - and also to apologise for ever having forced him to step in the way that he did - than by replacing the dearly beloved broken lute. It would be a while before Jaskier would be able to play it, sure, but at least he would get to have one again.

Jaskier without a lute was like a bird without wings. Senselessly wrong, abysmally cruel. The lute was Jaskier's sky, his gateway to freedom. 

Geralt couldn't stand to see Jaskier go without anymore. 

"It was five hundred gold crowns," said the merchant. Geralt winced; he only had three hundred. "But I heard of what you did for us with that kikimora. As my own personal way of saying thank you - since I gotta travel through that way next month - I'll give it to you for two."

"Sold." Geralt took out his coin pouch, emptied it on the table, and counted out a hundred crowns to put back. 

"If I were you, I'd go to Lee's shop near the tavern."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"He's an artist. Does some beautiful engravings, best I've ever clapped eyes on, at least. He might be willing to give you a discount on any design you want; his brother got taken by the kikimora. There's no one around here gladder to see that beast gone than him."

"Thank you. I'll go and check out his shop."

As it turned out, Lee was very grateful to Geralt - to the point where Geralt had to insist on paying at least fifty gold crowns instead of getting the design done for free. 

"So," said Lee, "tell me what you want done and I will have it done by the end of the day."

When Geralt told him, Lee's face split into a wide smile, showing off nearly every tooth he owned. 

"A beautiful design! I take it that this is a gift for a special someone?"

Jaskier's grinning face appeared in Geralt's mind, rosy-cheeked, hair windswept. "More than special, actually."

"Then I will make sure the design is the most beautiful piece of artwork to have ever come out of this shop!"

* * *

That night, Geralt hid the brand new lute under the bed where he knew Jaskier would never look, safely hidden within its case. Nerves ate at Geralt's insides. It wasn't as if he had never given Jaskier a gift before - one of the daggers on Jaskier's person had been a gift from him, shoved unceremoniously into Jaskier's startled hands - but this was the first gift that _meant_ something. 

Perhaps it had been overkill with the engraving. The lute itself would have been good enough. Perhaps their relationship was still too new for such grand gestures. 

It was too fucking late now to back out; he'd already spent most of his money on the damn thing. Wasn't like he could take it back to the merchant to sell since the engraving was so personal. 

"Geralt!" Jaskier cried happily, racing over as soon as he spotted Geralt coming down the stairs into the inn. "For a second there I thought you wouldn't come at all. She'll be on soon."

"You're not playing with her?"

"She hasn't asked yet. Wants to see if the mood is right for a duet."

"Hm."

"Besides, Calonetta is good. Incredibly good. It's been years since I've had the chance to hear her play, but she once beat me in a competition - I came second place - and that's how we got to know each other."

"Hm."

"Don't bite your tongue with all that talking, Geralt." Jaskier grinned teasingly, leaning against Geralt's side. Geralt shot him a half-hearted glare. Just as he went to respond, Priscilla strutted to the centre of the room, holding her lute like one would a lover. "Shh!" He swatted Geralt's arm as if Geralt had been the one talking. "She's about to play!"

Priscilla - Calonetta's voice was angelic, high and clear, like windchimes in a soft breeze. She strummed gently on her lute. Within seconds, her audience was captivated. Those that gave coins to her did so as quietly as possible, tiptoeing to her lute case instead of chucking them at her like audiences were wont to do with Jaskier. 

A baby started crying in the middle of Priscilla's third song. The mother, red-faced and embarrassed, tried to tuck the babe against her breast to quieten her. Instead, Priscilla floated over to the mother and placed a gentle kiss on the babe's head. 

"It's alright," Priscilla whispered, "babies cry, it's what they do. Don't worry."

She swanned back to the middle of the room, leaving the awestruck mother gaping in her wake, the baby settling in the gentle rock and sway of her arms. 

The audience burst into applause the moment she finished, leaping to their feet.

"Thank you, thank you, you are all very gracious!" Priscilla took off her hat and bowed, sweeping her arm out behind her. "If you would welcome my friend, Jaskier the bard, for a short performance as well?" She beckoned to Jaskier, grinning from ear to ear. "Get up here, Jaskier!" 

"G-Geralt, help me stand?" 

Geralt did so, retaking his seat once Jaskier found his feet and 

"What song would you lovely people like to listen to?" Jaskier called to the audience. Several girls in a corner were jumping up and down in excitement, squealing. 

"Toss A Coin!"

"Play the coin song!"

"Coin, coin, coin!"

Of course that was the fucking song they wanted. Geralt slid a little further down in his seat, hoping nobody would notice the presence of the very witcher the song was about. But the presence of two world-famous bards was enough to take the threat of the limelight away from him. 

Jaskier grinned, turning to Priscilla. "You know the chords for that one?"

"Sure do! It's a classic. Need a seat?" she asked, noticing the way he was favouring his left leg. 

"If I sit, I'm afraid I won't get back up again without assistance. And sing along, Cal!" 

Despite the fact that Jaskier couldn't move from the spot, he still had enough energy to get the crowd going. Priscilla danced around the room for him. Jaskier's fingers moved against his thighs and it took Geralt a few seocnds to realise they were moving in the exact positions they would've been on the strings. He was silently strumming the chords.

Remind Geralt of the lute upstairs waiting for him. 

If Geralt couldn't wait for the song to be over when it initially started, he definitely couldn't wait now.

But, of course, the audience demanded The Fishmonger's Daughter from them next. Priscilla was laughing more than singing now, stomping her feet along with everyone else. Geralt rolled his eyes and began clapping along to the beat - and Jaskier beamed at him. 

"Thank you, thank you so much!" Jaskier shouted at the song's end. "I couldn't have asked for a better audience!"

He hobbled over to Geralt. 

"Come with me." Geralt stood and took his hand. There were several people gearing up to come talk to Jaskier, but Geralt didn't have the patience to wait anymore. He needed to give Jaskier his present now. 

"What? But Geralt -"

"I have something to show you. A gift."

Jaskier grinned so wide it was a wonder his face didn't hurt. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go! Cal," he called, and Priscilla turned her head, "I'll be back in just a second."

She looked between Geralt and Jaskier, grinned cheekily, and gave them a thumb's up. "Go get it, cowboy!" 

Geralt was amused. "I have a feeling she thinks we're leaving to do something else."

"If the gift is good enough, perhaps we will be."

"Heh, then you'll see her again in a couple hours."

"So _sure_ of yourself..."

"If you knew what was up there, you would be do."

"Oh don't keep me in suspense, Geralt! I hate surprises!"

"You do not, don't lie."

"I don't like them when I don't know what they are! Gimme, gimme!"

They were on their floor now. 

"Close your eyes." Geralt got behind Jaskier, hands on his shoulders. 

" _Geralt_!"

"Stop whining. You'll know in a minute, now do what I say."

Sighing heavily, Jaskier closed his eyes and allowed Geralt to guide him into their room - only to leave him bereft in the middle of the room. 

"Patience!" Geralt snapped at Jaskier's whining, stooping to pull out the case and take the lute from it. "Hold out your hands."

"This better be good, Ge - no!" Jaskier snapped his eyes open, gasping. "Geralt! You bought me - this is -"

"A lute. Your lute. To replace the broken one."

"Oh my goodness, it's beautiful!"

Indeed, it was. Lee had done a spectacular job. Across the length of the lute, he had engraved a long, spindly tree branch. Near the neck, a little songbird was taking flight. Down the bottom, Lee had written, 'To Jaskier, love from Geralt.'

The 'love' had not been Geralt's idea, but as Jaskier gently set aside the lute and threw himself, sobbing, into Geralt's arms, he had to say the addition had been a good choice.

"I love it! I love it, and I love you!" Jaskier wailed. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"It's not as good as Filavandrel's lute, I know -"

"It's better than his lute! It's better than any lute in the world! The god's themselves could craft me a lute from the finest materials, and it will never match up! You're so good to me, Geralt, what did I do to deserve you?"

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier's waist. "You stole the words right out of my mouth." He grunted, expression twisting as Jaskier pulled back to pepper his face with kisses. "J-Jaskier-!"

"Priscilla is not going to see me for the next two fucking days. Now get on the bed, Geralt, because there are several things I want to do to you right now!"

Geralt laid down, and enjoyed every single thing Jaskier did to him. The songs of pleasure he made Jaskier sing were the most beautiful songs he had ever heard.

-fin-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first multi-chaptered completed story in what feels like ages. I feel amazing right now. Please leave a comment letting me know what you think. :D

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! Next chapter should hopefully come within the next few days! You can follow me on Tumblr @mystic-majestic. My inbox is always open to headcanons, prompts, and random unsolicited gushing.


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